THREE WHEEL HELL
Like getting old ain’t hard enough?
You’ve seen them, those tottering oldies with bowed backs and hats pulled down over their ears, while they struggle to peddle a three-wheel bike on ground so level that you could play marbles on it. You’ve seen them and you’ve probably snickered at the lines of determination furrowing their brows.
That, and you probably remember, as I do, the skits on TV where the old guy is riding a tiny trike which always falls over when he is trying to impress some woman sitting on a park bench.
Well, I’ve grayed up and not just at the temples. As the years skipped by, the thought of snagging a three-wheel bike to zip to the grocery store or make a quick run to the Dollar store, grew in appeal for me. I couldn’t carry much of anything on my two-wheel bike and I didn’t want to key up my gas-guzzling car for every small run. Hell, if I had a three-wheel bike with one of them big baskets on the back I could zip to the grocery, the pharmacy, and even the postal annex without moving the wheels of my car and sooting up the atmosphere with carbon.
I looked it up, and the three-wheelers were easy enough to find and there were lots of used ones for not much more than a hundred bucks. I like to think of myself as somewhat bright. I did the math and figured I could switch my car insurance to one of them pay-by-the-mile jobbies and save enough to buy a half dozen three-wheel bikes and have change left over.
Since I walk a lot, I was sure I’d have the leg power to ride about anywhere I got the urge to peddle. I sat on the idea for a few months, which is what I usually do when a good idea arises. I decide it’s a good plan and then promptly forget about it.
One day a neighbor mentioned they saw a three-wheel bike with a For Sale sign on it. I plunked down the money and it was mine. The previous owner tried to dole out a lengthy batch of instructions to me. Ha. I didn’t need that. Having ridden a standard bike for years, I waved his litany aside and mounted my new prize. I’d helmet up later when I got back to my house.
I chugged off like a drunk turtle with a sore hindfoot. The bike swerved and curved and the back wheels alternately rose and banged back down on the pavement when I leaned left or right, which is standard procedure on my two-wheel bike. The clunker was much heavier than my spry thin-wheeled ten-speed. Its tires were fat and it had but one speed, slow. The steering was over-sensitive. A tiny turn of the front wheel sent the vehicle into the curb or across the center line, and my leaning was making matters much worse.
I’d never noticed the slight incline my road had before. Now, pumping away to move forward sent burning pain up my thighs. I’d have to work on my leg muscles. That was for sure. After what seemed like an hour, I finally traversed the ten blocks home and slowed to turn up my driveway.
I couldn’t say for sure what went wrong there. One minute I was angling up the incline to the driveway and the next minute the three-wheeler was tilting out of control and I was falling. I bounced my head against the concrete of my driveway. The damn bike crashed on top of me.
I was still sprawled there when the ambulance arrived and the nice paramedics applied a neck brace and rolled me toward their vehicle.
I’d been bested by a bike that I thought of as a wimpy oversized tricycle, a tricycle like the ones that any five-year-old can ride with ease. I’d learned another lesson about growing older. Getting old is hard enough without adding a piece of three-wheel hell to it.
Now, when I see some brave soul peddling their three-wheel bike up or down the road I give them a wave and a salute. They are more talented and braver than I am.
To see more of my writing, visit my website at mcnallytalesunleashed.com
